Juvenile
by The Straight Elf
Summary: How would the Dovahkiin's journey play out if he were only a teenager? A series of one-shots exploring Staid's, a fourteen year old Imperial with a talent for sneaking around and magic, adventures throughout Skyrim as he is dragged into numerous conflicts.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: After seeing a prompt about a teenaged Dovahkiin – one about thirteen to fifteen – I decided that I wanted to write it. Stid is fourteen. This will be a series of one-shots.

Disclaimer: I don't own Skyrim.

"You're awake." Staid heard as consciousness returned to him. He carefully opened his eyes and tried to turn around to see who had spoken to him. Some sort of restraints held him back and he groaned in pain as the rough ropes rubbed his skin.

Staid made do with turning his head. He saw a haggard, yet proud, man with lank blonde hair and shadowed eyes. Although he had never seen the man before, he could tell that the man hadn't been treated very well. Unfortunately, any desire to know of the man's treatment was overshadowed by his fear and confusion.

"Where in Oblivion am I?" Staid asked groggily as he squinted at the blonde man. The man seemed taken aback by him for some reason and looked at him with pity.

"How young are you?" The blonde man asked. Staid just snorted in annoyance and glared at him.

"Fourteen. Now answer my question."

"Have the Imperials fallen so low as to execute children?" The man muttered before turning back to Staid. "You were caught in an Imperial ambush set for Ulfric Stormcloak. Now you're being taken to Helgen to be executed."

Staid froze and the blood drained from his face. He had just been chasing after that damn horse-thief when he had suddenly been knocked unconscious. How in Azura's name did that lead to his bloody execution?

The man – Staid never bothered to learn his name – continued to chatter along, making minor observations about the small town they found themselves in. Staid recognized it as Helgen, although he had already known that thanks to the man's answer. He had been here several times during his life, although he'd never bothered traveling so far to the north after his parents had been killed in the war, leaving him as a wanderer.

He was only brought back to reality when the cart suddenly stopped in the town square. Staid shivered as he was led down from the cart – much more gently than other prisoners, he noticed. The town square was a semi-familiar sight to him. A small watch tower loomed above them, the imposing stone warning away any attackers. Soldiers dressed in the familiar red and leather armor he had come to associate with safety and strength.

Now, however, they represented his upcoming death. Staid had heard the blonde man say something about him being captured with Ulfric Stormcloak. He certainly wasn't stupid enough to assume that the Empire wouldn't be willing to kill him along with the leader of the rebellion. They couldn't know that he was innocent.

The Imperial thought about making a run for it. He wasn't ready to die, not this young. Fortunately, however, that notion was quickly quashed as a scrawny man attempted to sprint away. Staid recognized him as the bastard that had tried to steal his horse, although his indignation was replaced by shock and fear when the man was suddenly killed by a barrage of arrows.

Silence reigned throughout the town as the thief's corpse limply fell to the ground. One of the Imperials began to pull it away as the silence began to break. The captured Stormcloaks slowly had their names and crimes read out by a soldier before being sent over to an area just a few feet away from the executioner's block.

Staid was silent as he was pulled in front of a stern Imperial captain. She didn't even look up from her list as he was placed in front of her. A soldier kept a good grip on him as the man looked up with wide eyes, clearly horrified by his age.

"How old are you." He asked quietly. Staid could barely hear him over the howling wind.

"Fourteen. My name's Staid." The teenager answered curtly. He stared straight ahead, not allowing his eyes to meet the man's lest he show the terror he was feeling. The legionnaire looked over his list with troubled eyes, although he seemed relieved when Staid's name didn't come up.

"Captain." The legionnaire said, respectfully addressing the tall woman. "His name's not on the list. What should we do?"

"Send him in with the rest." She answered coldly, not even bothering to glance at Staid. "I don't care how young he is. I'm not letting a Stormcloak go free."

"I'm sorry." The legionnaire told him in a troubled tone, regret etched into his features. "I'll make sure your remains are returned to Cyrodiil."

While Staid could certainly appreciate the sentiment, it wasn't much of a comfort at the moment. He stiffly nodded at the legionnaire and allowed himself to be pulled away by his guard. Staid ignored the world around him, too terrified of the coming axe.

Only a strange roar snapped him out of it. The powerful call echoed through the mountains of Skyrim. Almost everyone but the captain looked apprehensive from the roar. It belonged to no beast Staid had ever encountered, but it still seemed _familiar_ somehow. Whatever had made the roar was alien to everyone, both Stormcloak and Imperial.

Staid felt the icy terror flowing through his veins increase in strength as the first Stormcloak was executed. The rash man was quickly and efficiently executed by the hooded executioner. His head was severed by the powerful swing of the executioner's axe and fell into a small basket. The Stormcloak's body went limp as blood poured out of the open neck.

One of the soldiers pulled the corpse away, making way for the next of the condemned men. Blood pounded through his head as he heard the captain call out his name. He frantically tried to think of any way he could possibly escape this fate, but came up blank. There was no escape.

He was slack as the guard carefully brought him over to the block, gently forcing him down and laying his head down on the bloody wood. The block was slick against his neck as he was forced down. Staid felt the shameful tears begin to gather in his eyes as he heard the priestess begin to bless him in the name of Arkay.

Suddenly there was the roar again. It struck deep in the cords of his soul, seeming to echo in his mind. Staid still felt as though he knew it from somewhere, although the call didn't comfort him. Instead of strengthening him with its familiarity he felt pure terror, even worse than what he was already feeling.

Staid closed his eyes. Although he could see the watch tower and the assorted legionnaires, they were no comfort to him. He prepared himself for death as the blessing ended. The sound of the executioner pulling his massive axe out of the ground was all he heard in the cruel silence.

Even as he envisioned the headsman lifting his axe high into the air in preparation of decapitating him the sound of powerful wings beating greeted his ears. Staid's eyes snapped open as screams tore through the air, although he wished he had been content to await his death.

A massive black creature was perched on top of the watchtower, glaring down at the assorted men and mer with malevolent red eyes. Staid couldn't help but gasp as it turned its eyes to him and glared with as much hatred as Staid had ever seen.

Suddenly, it acted. The creature – Staid recognized it as a dragon from the descriptions in the old tales he had heard when he and his father had ventured into Skyrim – opened its maw, revealing a line of thick, dangerously curved fangs larger than Staid's forearm. Its powerful roar seemed to have some magical quality to it, as the sheer force caused most of the soldiers to stumble backwards a few feet.

That wasn't what terrified him. The dragon took advantage of their weakness and suddenly spoke. It wasn't any language that Staid had ever heard, however. Something about the words struck some chord in Staid. Although he didn't know what they meant, he felt as though the meaning were _just_ out of reach, hidden behind some sort of mental haze.

His ponderings were erased when he realized that this was his chance. Staid began to pull himself up, but was aided by the blonde man from the wagon.

"Come on!" The man shouted above the din of the storm that had suddenly begun to gather. "This is our chance to escape. Follow me."

With that the blonde man sprinted to the watch tower. Staid followed as fast as he could, barely avoiding a hunk of flaming stone that fell from the sky. His bound wrists made running difficult and awkward, but he overcame the irritation and managed to get to the watchtower.

Staid didn't bother waiting on the other prisoners. They were speaking to each other on the bottom floor of the watch tower, but he didn't want any part with the Stormcloaks. He simply ran up the stairs as fast as he could, although he yelped and nearly fell backwards when a section of the wall burst inwards in an implosion of stone.

The dragon's massive head burst in through the hole, the long, curved horns barely missing Staid. He froze as the dragon pulled its head back out and said, "YOL TOOR SHUL!" in a powerful, deep voice.

He couldn't hold back the yelp as a stream of flame erupted from the beast's maw and washed over the stone of the tower. The corpse of a man killed by the stone was completely incinerated, leaving nothing more than blackened bone with scraps of charred flesh hanging on. Staid couldn't hold back the growing sense of nausea and turned his head to the side. Even as the dragon flew away Staid began to vomit.

When he was done he tiredly wiped his mouth. He could see the dragon flying above the town, leisurely picking the soldiers resisting it up from the ground and devouring them. Steel and leather were of little hindrance to the dragon's fangs, and the dragon easily tore the screaming men and women to bits.

Staid barely held back another surge of nausea. He realized that the dragon would eventually come back for the people in the watchtower, although that logical thought wasn't at the forefront of his mind. The terrible thought of being roasted alive while the dragon filled the tower with flame was.

He eyed the burned house just a few feet away and made his decision. Drawing upon some of the last vestiges of strength he possessed he leapt from the tower's new window and heavily landed upon the fragile wood of the home, collapsing and rolling through the weakened structure. Staid screamed as the wood collapsed underneath him, dropping him to the first floor.

Through some incredible stroke of luck he wasn't harmed by the fall aside from a few scrapes and bruises. Staid wasted no time in pulling himself up and running away as the dragon flew over the collapsed house again, blasting a small stream of flame at it. Staid barely evaded the fire and was lucky enough for the dragon to not simply swoop down and capture him in its powerful jaws.

As he aimlessly ran through the streets in the blind hope of surviving the horrific ordeal, Staid felt a strong hand grab his arm and pull. He prepared to fight off the attacker with everything he had – including a few rather nasty spells that he had paid quite a bit for – until he saw that his captor was the legionnaire.

"Calm down, boy." The young man hissed. "We need to get out of here. That thing won't stop until we're all dead."

Staid took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm down. "How do we get out of here?" He asked fearfully.

"The fortress." The legionnaire stated, nodding to a large structure that was just barely visible over the ruined, smoking houses and shattered stone wall. "It goes underground, so we should be safe. Let's go."

"What's your name?" Staid gasped out as they ran through the wreckage and chaos as fast as they were able. The legionnaire was carefully leading him through the destroyed town, completely ignoring the Stormcloaks that had appeared out of seemingly nowhere. Staid assumed they were here to save Ulfric.

"Hadvar." The legionnaire grunted as he pushed through a bit of rubble blocking their path. "Stay close."

Staid was more than happy to comply as they ran through the destroyed town. He nearly tripped over some of the charred and broken bodies that littered the area, but managed to stay upright. The worst of the scares with the dragon occurred when they were running past a section of the wall that was still standing. As they carefully ran past it, heedless of any exhaustion or fatigue, the dragon landed atop the wall and began to blast the group of archers that had congregated nearby with a stream of unnaturally hot flame. Its hook at the end of the wing nearly eviscerated Staid, but he pressed himself up against the wall and took slow, deep breaths.

Soon after the legionnaires had been slaughtered the dragon took to the air again and picked off the few remaining men and mer. The duo took that as their chance to restart their mad rush for freedom, although they were hindered by Hadvar taking them past General Tullius.

"General Tullius, what should we do?" Hadvar shouted over the din of the slaughter. Tullius glanced over at them with annoyance.

"Get out of here, soldier! Take the prisoner with you." Tullius shouted as he and more than a dozen legionnaires retreated. Hadvar nodded and looked at Staid.

"Follow me. We're close."

With that they set off. Staid's eyes were blurry from the smoke and ash that pervaded the air and his lung were burning. He was coughing as Hadvar pushed open a set of heavy wooden doors and pulled him in.

Staid coughed for a few more moments until he could finally appreciate the fresh air. It was cold, but it was a blessed relief against the blistering heat they had just been in. His eyes cleared up and he began to feel much better, although the thoughts of the mutilated bodies outside of this haven made him feel sick.

He was no stranger to death. Wandering the land since you were but a child tended to introduce you to the concept quite often, as did the harsh life everyone in the north shared. But he had only seen a few quietly murdered men and women – several by his own hand – with a single, quick cut that quickly killed them. The slaughter outside was a completely different thing.

Hadvar interrupted his quiet musings. "Your hands are still bound?" The legionnaire asked incredulously. "I thought one of the others had cut them."

"Yes." Staid replied tiredly. "Could you get these off? I won't be of much use to you with them on."

The legionnaire nodded and withdrew a small, sharp dagger from his belt. He efficiently sawed through the thick, coarse ropes and freed Staid's hands. He hissed in pain as the blood began to flow back into his hands, but ignored it.

"Go search for anything useful." Hadvar ordered as he began to scavenge through a chest in the corner of the room. "Weapons, armor, gold – anything that could help us get through this place. I don't know if any of the Stormcloaks managed to get here first."

Staid didn't say anything, instead focusing on scrounging through the dirty room. A weapon rack was on the other side of the room and held an assortment of knives, swords, and hammers. The Imperial was too small to effectively use a sword or hammer – they were too heavy for him to use for very long, and he could barely even lift a war hammer – so he browsed through the small selection of knives.

After a few moments of careful examination he found a nice little dagger. It was of exceptionally good quality, and the lessons drilled into him by some of the legionnaires he'd met took over. Although it wouldn't hold up in a fight against someone with real armor – it was made of mundane steel, something that would barely even scratch some of the more exotic metals – but in a fight against the ill-equipped Stormcloaks it would work quite well.

The Imperial found a bit of spare armor, but it was much too large for him. It wouldn't make sense for the Legion to spend gold on armor small enough for a fourteen year old to wear, after all. He did manage to find a pair of thin leather gloves that fit him, however.

"I'm ready." He said to Hadvar. The legionnaire had a long blade in his right hand and a round shield in his left and was standing next to a chain. Hadvar nodded and pulled on it, causing the thick iron gate blocking their path to move upwards.

They moved quickly and quietly. Staid was practically silent as he followed Hadvar through the stone halls. After a minute they arrived outside of a small, well-lit room where they could hear several people speaking.

"Stormcloaks." Hadvar muttered to Staid. "Hopefully they'll let us pass."

With that the legionnaire stood up and revealed himself, although he put his arms up in a gesture of peace. The Stormcloaks didn't seem to care and hefted up their weapons and rushed at Hadvar. Staid's eyes widened and he wasted no time in jumping out. It was clear that Hadvar wouldn't be able to get to his shield in time, so Staid had to provide a distraction.

He was too fast for the first Stormcloak, whose head had barely turned to the new threat before he plunged the dagger into the gap between her thick fur armor and helmet. She gurgled as he yanked the dagger out and spun away from her collapsing form.

Staid was moving automatically. He had never been formally trained, but the lessons from legionnaires he had stayed with flashed through his mind and the experience from numerous fights with other beggars over food and bandits thinking he was easy prey guided his movements.

Hammer swinging towards him. Too powerful to redirect. Stormcloak with sword and shield coming at his right, too fast to block if he dodged the hammer. Hadvar was moving at the Stormcloak with the hammer.

Solution: let Hadvar handle the warhammer. He wouldn't be able to beat the man due to the man's brute strength and long reach. The Stormcloak with the sword and shield was more manageable.

He ducked the powerful swing from the hammer and surged towards the Stormcloak with the sword, surprising the man with his ferocity. Staid tried to lunge towards the Stormcloak and get him in the neck, but the man was wary and expertly swung his sword at Staid.

Staid was too slow to fully dodge the blow, although he did manage to keep the worst of the damage away. The blade cut a long, shallow cut down his forearm and Staid growled as the stinging bite of the blade registered.

The Stormcloak – although only an average warrior at best, if the numerous legionnaires he had observed had taught him anything – was still far too good for him to beat. He couldn't match the man's reach or strength, and the shield gave the Stormcloak more options.

So he cheated. He moved backwards as the man swung his sharp sword and raised his empty hand. The Stormcloak's eyes widened in realization as Staid's hand was wreathed in scarlet flames. Staid forced his hand outwards and blasted the small ball of flame into the Stormcloak's armored chest.

His spell wasn't powerful enough to kill the man on its own, but it gave Staid an opening. While the man stumbled backwards and clawed at his chest in agony, Staid rushed forward with his knife raised and plunged his dagger into the Stormcloak's neck. A small spurt of blood stained his glove and his dagger, but Staid paid no heed to it.

When he yanked it out, the man stayed upright for several more seconds, clutching his neck with useless fingers before collapsing to the ground. Staid panted from the exertion before turning around. Hadvar was staring at him in astonishment, his bloody blade hanging loosely from his grip.

"That was…impressive." Hadvar stated before hefting his shield up. "Let's go."

Staid nodded and quietly followed Hadvar. They said nothing to each other as they passed through the empty halls of the fort. Both were too tense for conversation, although the silence finally broke after they snuck up on a few Stormcloaks scavenging potions and quickly killed them thanks to their stealth.

"Where did you learn to fight?" Hadvar asked as they searched the store room for any remaining potions. Several had been found on the Stormcloaks, but both of them wanted as many as possible.

"Mostly on the streets." Staid replied as he dug through a dusty wooden box. "A few legionnaires I met taught me some stuff, but I mostly learned from fighting for food or people who thought I was an easy target."

"You're better than most with that dagger of yours." Hadvar mused as he pulled a few potions from a discarded bag. "Whatever legionnaire taught you did well."

"Thanks."

Silence reigned once more after that. They soon realized that escaping was more important than finding as many potions as possible, in no small part due to the ominous crashes coming from above them. Dust rained down from the rafters as the roof shook.

They practically fled from the room as the shakings became more and more frequent. Neither had any desire to be crushed under tons of dirt and stone. Their quick pace didn't let up until they reached the torture chamber and had to kill off the Stormcloaks threatening the Imperials there.

Their silence, however, held strong. Even with the addition to their group – a tall man whose hood obscured his face, but whose size and demeanor suggested Nordic heritage – the silence remained. Staid certainly appreciated it. He didn't want to have to fight anybody head on, not when it was so much easier to walk up behind them and slit their throats or stab them in the back.

The fact that a rear assault meant that he didn't have to see their faces as they died might have played a part in it as well.

Unfortunately, they soon found themselves in another fight. Staid and Hadvar had accepted by now that the Stormcloaks wouldn't work with them, so they didn't bother giving the rebels the advantage of knowing that they were there.

The torturer nearly blew their cover when he charged up some sort of lightning spell – it didn't seem to be very powerful, judging by the fact that Staid could barely feel magic being drawn into being – but Hadvar quickly reprimanded the man.

Hadvar had already made a plan. He and the torturer's apprentice would fight off any of the Stormcloaks that didn't have bows, while Staid would start the fight by throwing a ball of fire into a long stream of glistening oil that had likely been created by a spilled lamp. Three Stormcloaks stood around the oil spill, either unaware of the danger right next to them or uncaring.

"Now." Hadvar ordered. Staid nodded and clenched his right fist, causing bright flames to flicker into existence around it. When his spell was charged he opened his hand and sent the fireball careening over to the shining oil. The Stormcloaks had just seen the fireball when it impacted, setting the oil alight and drowning the rebels in flame.

Staid hadn't realized just how horrifying doing that would be. The rancid smell of cooking flesh and burnt hair wafted through the air, and on top of the nausea he was experiencing from the mere fact that he had just burned people alive, he emptied the contents of his stomach – now little more than bile and water – onto the cave floor.

Hadvar looked at him pityingly before turning around to face the Stormcloaks that were charging through the dark cave in the hopes of avenging their burning comrades and meet them in battle. The torturer stood back and supported Hadvar with his lightning spell. Although it didn't appear to be very strong, judging by the spasms and screams coming from the Stormcloaks it was extremely painful.

Even as Staid was beginning to recover and pull himself back up, one of his targets – one of the two Stormcloaks that had bows instead of swords or hammers – that had gone unchecked pulled back an arrow and shot it straight into the torturer's chest.

Staid recovered rather quickly after that. He hadn't known the torturer, and had to admit that he was quite glad that it hadn't been him or Hadvar killed by the archer, but the dead man had still been an ally. The teenager's pale face grew red with anger and shouted as he sheathed his dagger and blasted two fireballs at the archer, who was lining up another shot.

Twin fireballs impacted the Stormcloak's chest, causing the man to cry out in pain as the magical flames ate through his light armor and into his chest. He had no chance to react as a long shard of ice flashed through the dark cave, noticeable only due to the flickering torch light. It landed heavily into the Stormcloak's mostly exposed chest, spearing through the slightly burnt muscle and flesh.

The Imperial calmed down as the Stormcloak died and turned to the other rebel. Hadvar was doing an admirable job of keeping the two Stormcloaks attacking him at bay, showing mastery over the sword that took years of hard practice and training to build.

He didn't use fireballs this time. That ice spike had been pretty effective against the last Stormcloak, so hopefully it would work just as good on this one.

His foe was lining up a shot by the time he had prepared the spell. Staid didn't move as the woman shot an arrow at him. That killing shot by the last archer had practically been a miracle. Only khajiit and bosmer tended to be able to shoot just as well in the dark as they could in the light, and with the heavy iron helmets the Stormcloaks wore he was surprised they could even shoot straight. There was almost no threat of being hit.

So he was patient as he sent his spells at her. She was fast enough to dodge the barrage of ice spikes, but her heavy armor was slowing her down and weakening her. Soon enough he landed a few hits that crippled her, which made his job much easier. Just a few more spells later and she caught a few lethal spikes to the chest.

Staid was panting as he finished. That fight had taken almost all of his magicka reserves, which had been one of the only things that was keeping him going. It was a sort of energy reserve when someone really needed it.

"How are you holding up?" Hadvar asked as he walked over to the teenager. The legionnaire had gained several new wounds. His armor looked as though it had taken a beating and was slightly dented from blows powerful enough to have shattered Staid's bones. A small cut was on his face, but it looked as though Hadvar had drunk one of the weak healing potions they'd found.

"I'm fine." He replied, pulling himself up. "Just tired. How much longer do we have to go before we're out of here?"

"Not long." The legionnaire answered. "We're about to enter the caves that'll lead us out. Be careful in there, I've heard that some animals come into it for warmth. Try not to aggravate them."

Staid nodded and followed Hadvar as the legionnaire carefully led him through the dark cave, soon leading into a section of the caves that was pitch black aside from a few solitary lanterns that littered the ground. They moved through quickly once Staid conjured up a ball of flame that allowed them to safely traverse the area.

Soon, however, disaster struck soon enough. They entered a slightly lit area – the thin beams of light descended from holes in the ceiling – that revealed that the duo had stumbled into a Frostbite Spider lair. Webs large enough to wrap ten men in hung from the walls and tightly wrapped balls of the thick web that likely held the dissolved corpses of their prey were attached to the larger webs.

Hadvar held out his shield to keep Staid from going any further. Staid looked around nervously, searching for any of the deadly arachnids. Although the Frostbites in the south of Skyrim tended to have a paralytic poison that knocked its victims unconscious instead of the lethal venom of the north, it was still far too dangerous to risk being bitten by them.

"Don't move." Hadvar murmured. "But prepare yourself. This is the only way out."

Staid nodded and readied his spells. Fire would be most effective against the spiders. It wasn't as if they needed to kill all of the Frostbite, just scare them away.

The duo carefully began to walk forward with their eyes scanning over every corner of the room. Staid wished he had learned a spell that could detect life. It would be pretty useful right now.

As Staid searched the large cavern, he missed a hidden corpse entombed in web. The teen tripped over it and cursed in indignation as he fell down onto the sticky surface of the floor. Staid pushed himself up and looked up at Hadvar in order to apologize for his clumsiness.

What he saw, however, was not an annoyed legionnaire. What he saw was a legionnaire with a face as white as a ghost and his weapons ready. Staid saw that he was looking behind him, and with a growing sense of dead turned around.

A Frostbite Spider – larger than any he had ever seen before, more than three times as large as most of its breed – was lowering itself down behind him. He had no idea how the creature had managed to hide itself from their vigilant search, but that wonder vanished when he saw that a dozen of its kin were lowering themselves to the ground as well.

Staid ignored the revulsion and fear he felt as he saw the thick hair covering legs as tall as he was and the blank, dead looking eyes that balefully stared at him. He even ignored the fangs that ominously dripped clear poison.

He knew that his ice spikes and fire bots would do little to the monster. Staid gritted his teeth and ignored his exhaustion, drawing upon his last reserves of magicka in order to form two swirling spheres of ethereal flame in his hands. This spell had cost him a great amount of septims to learn, and he truly hoped that it was worth it.

When both spells were charged up, Staid released the twin fireballs. They blasted into the floor directly underneath the massive Frostbite Spider and exploded, causing the spider and its children to screech in agony as they were bathed in flames.

Staid screamed as the wave of heat hit him as well, burning his exposed skin and causing him great pain. He saw one of the smaller spiders that had escaped the flames – now being rapidly spread by the flammable web – leap at him and dig its fangs into his arm.

There was no pain other than the bite, although the sensation of the thin venom being injected into his bloodstream was an uncomfortable sensation. He still barely felt anything, and the world seemed to be swimming around him. As blackness crept towards the edge of his vision he heard Hadvar shout and saw a shining steel sword go straight through the spider's thin exoskeleton and force the creature off of him.

His exhausted body collapsed and took his mind along with it. Staid only felt a pair of strong arms catching him before he fell into unconsciousness.

X

He awoke in an unfamiliar place. Whatever he was in was rather coarse and slightly itchy, but it was still paradise compared to the thin, ratty bedroll he usually slept on. Staid enjoyed the sensation for a few moments before opening his eyes and pushing himself up on weakened arms.

"Where am I?" He wondered aloud. The room he was in was small, and from the open doorway he could see that it led into an average looking room that had a large table and everything else a family could need in it. From the poor quality of most things, he judged that he was in the home of a peasant or some other poor person. Of course, the high quality of most of the metal instruments around him – candleholders, door latches, and a few pots made him suspect that this might be the home of a blacksmith.

"You're in my husband's home." Said a woman as she entered the room. She was pretty enough, Staid supposed, but her face was weathered from a hard life in a small village. "My husband's nephew brought you here half-dead and unconscious. You're lucky you survived."

"Thank you." He coughed through a dry throat. "But could I please have some water."

"Of course." She replied, handing him a small cup. Staid greedily gulped it down. "Now get back down. You're in no shape to be walking around. That bite wound has barely healed and there might be some leftover burns."

Staid nodded his acceptance and let himself collapse onto the bed. "Were you the one that healed me?"

"I'm the one that identified your worst injuries and gave you a few healing potions." She replied. "By the way, I'm Sigrid."

"Staid." He replied. "Well, thank you for your assistance. Could you get Hadvar?"

Sigrid nodded and walked out of the room. Staid sighed in exhaustion and closed his eyes for a moment and simply relaxed. It had been so long since he had been in a real bed.

His peace was interrupted by the heavy thuds he associated with boots. Staid opened his eyes and saw Hadvar entering the room in full Legion regalia. Hadvar's sword hung on his hip in a leather sheath and his shield was on his back.

"Are you feeling all right?" The man questioned as he sat down in a small wooden chair next to the bed. "You had some nasty injuries."

"I'm fine." Staid replied. "Where am I?"

"You're in my Uncle Alvor's house." Hadvar said. "It's in a small town called Riverwood and is just an hour or so away from Helgen."

"Did you carry me here?" Staid asked uncomfortable. He was embarrassed to have been such a load.

"Yes." The legionnaire stated. "You were too badly hurt and that poison had knocked you out. Those potions we picked up weren't strong enough to do anything, and I wasn't about to leave you after you saved my life."

"Thanks." Staid said. "Do you know how long it will be before I recover? I need to get moving again."

Hadvar scratched his chin for a moment as he thought. "Just a few days at the most. Sigrid said you were mostly healed. But," he said, his tone turning serious, "I have a job for you. Riverwood is in danger, and I have to meet up with General Tullius in Solitude to give my report. When you're ready to travel, could you report the events at Helgen to Jarl Bulgruuf at Whiterun?"

"Me?" Staid asked in surprise. "Couldn't you or one of the villagers do it? I'm just a kid."

"A kid that's proven himself to be more dangerous than most legionnaires." Hadvar corrected. "None of the men are willing to venture to Whiterun – apparently bandits have started becoming more active in the region – and I'm having to go around the Hold, through Falkreath. Although Whiterun is neutral, its guards and militia don't take kindly to soldiers of either side going through its territory. You, on the other hand, can go through freely."

The teen thought the situation over for a moment. He didn't exactly have a set goal other than to survive, so it wasn't as if the job would be too restricting. Besides, having a grateful Jarl and village could do wonders for that goal. Maybe he would actually get paid this time.

"I'll do it." Staid said, holding out his bare hand. Hadvar grasped it and shook it.

"I've got to head out." Hadvar stated somewhat sadly. "Good luck, I think you might be needing it soon. I hope you enjoy your time in Riverwood. My uncle will give you any supplies that he can."

With that, the legionnaire left the room. Staid watched him leave, somewhat frustrated by his exit. Still, his words had merit. He would certainly enjoy the time lazing about and recovering.

Staid sighed and laid back down in the bed. He suspected that things would be getting a lot more interesting in his life soon.


	2. Chapter 2: Dovahkiin

"Damn it!" Staid cried as the undead creature shot another bolt of lightning at him.

He had delivered the message to Jarl Balgruuf, although he had made sure to disguise himself first. A few bundled pieces of cloth that allowed him to fit inside a set of iron armor and a helmet to disguise his face let him be taken seriously, although he wasn't sure why he had accepted that damn wizard's job as well. He had enough trouble keeping his age hidden in Dragonsreach just once.

Nevertheless, he had ventured into Bleak Falls Barrow. He'd found the golden claw that he'd heard the owner of the general store in Riverwood speaking of, but the ornate key was hardly the first thing on his mind. Surviving this battle was all he should be thinking of.

At the very end of the Barrow, he had found a curved wall with alien symbols carved deep into the stone. An ancient, crumbling stone chest sat next to a long sarcophagus, and he had assumed that it held the Dragonstone. When the tired teenager had finally opened it, however, he had seen nothing but an old, blackened dagger with the faint, pale blue glow that revealed that it had an ice enchantment.

Since he hadn't found much else of value in this forsaken tomb, he'd picked the plain dagger up. It felt quite nice in his hand, so he planned to keep it. The dagger was certainly nicer than his current one that he'd received from Alvor when he'd left Riverwood. Although Alvor was a decent smith, his specialty didn't lie in the creation of weapons.

The shoddy piece of iron that Alvor had given him was still in his bag. He could sell it for the iron inside of it. Staid had been able to admire the dagger – it looked to be forged from the same material as the heavy blades the draugr he'd encountered had been using, and had some of the same symbols etched into it as the wall.

Whoever had made it clearly didn't believe in fighting honorably, as the dagger's hilt had a short, sharp spike that would easily penetrate skin or break one of the more fragile bones if he hit them with the flat of it. The powerful ice enchantment that he could feel in the dagger would debilitate most men and mer from the sheer shock it would give to their system.

Unfortunately, a few moments after he'd picked up the dagger the sarcophagus' lid exploded outwards. Staid had quickly pulled the dagger up into a fighting position and prepared a spell. After all of the undead he'd fought on his way through the tomb he wasn't about to take chances. He had hoped that it would just be a draugr.

His luck, however, held out. Instead of the expected draugr, a skeletal form in tattered, ancient robes that wielded a sparking staff of the same material and design of his dagger levitated out. It wore a masterfully molded metal mask on its face which, although lightly damaged by the passing of time, was still imposing. The blank face disturbed him.

Staid hadn't fled, however. It probably would have been the smarter thing to do, and in most cases he definitely would have run the moment he sensed danger, but he had to get the Dragonstone. He had a job to do, and if he failed and simply ran away he would probably be hunted down by Farengar or Bulgruuf.

So he fought. The undead creature easily found him and raised its black staff. Lightning had begun to gather at the tip of it and had Staid delayed his attack anymore the attack would have incapacitated him.

Instead of being slain by a single attack, Staid resisted. Even as the arcs of lightning gathered and magicka was absorbed from the world around him, Staid threw a fire bolt at the undead's chest. He didn't expect it to actually kill the skeleton, but he thought it would at least wound it.

The skeleton ruined that optimistic thought. It raised its hand and summoned a shimmering ward – it was a vibrant green instead of the ethereal blue and white he had come to expect from wards – and easily absorbed his spell. His foe seemed to be as amused as an ancient skeleton could possibly be and cast aside the staff.

Staid gathered that it didn't think he was worth using such an impressive weapon on. The skeleton seemed to be more amused by him than anything else, and casually waved its hand. He yelped as a bolt of bright blue lightning crackled through the air towards him and barely managed to twist out of its way.

He had barely looked back at his foe before a stream of icy air washed over his form. Staid hissed in pain as the magical attack seeped into his muscles and stole away his strength. Before the skeleton could do anything else he began to struggle towards it with a raised dagger and fireball ready.

The skeleton's robed form was visible to him as the blast of icy air ended. It was floating victoriously, clearly under the illusion that its attack had slain the feeble challenger. Staid gritted his teeth and resolved to make it regret its arrogance.

It had turned around by the time he attacked. When he was little more than five feet away he launched the fireball at it before jumping away. The skeleton shrieked in pain as the fireball exploded on its back, searing its robes and causing it to fall to the ground.

Staid knew this was the only chance he would get. If the skeleton hadn't held some of the arrogance it had in life he would have been dead by its hand. There was no real reason other than luck that he had survived even this long, but he planned to make the most of that good fortune.

He ignored the burning in his limbs as he leapt upon the fallen skeleton. The dagger easily cut through the old scales on its cape and impacted some of the ancient bones. Although its bones were unnaturally strong due to the magic that sustained it, the force of the blow and the powerful enchantment hidden within the dagger were stronger.

It shrieked again as the dagger severed some of the bones, but rose and forced Staid off. The skeleton didn't give the teenager a chance to recover before brutally backhanding him. Despite the undead's frail appearance it had an unnatural strength in its old bones.

Staid was sent sprawling by the blow and pushed himself up as fast as he could. He had landed heavily on the hard stone and would certainly have bad bruises tomorrow. At least if he was still alive to have bruises.

No matter how badly he wanted to rest, he couldn't. Perhaps if the skeleton were a melee opponent he could take a moment to regain his strength as they circled each other, but this skeleton was a mage powerful enough to make him look like the child he was. If he stayed still the undead creature would fry him.

At least the dagger had done some damage, although nothing as bad as he'd hoped. He had been warned before that the undead were an entirely different kind of foe to fight. Some of the more experienced legionnaires had told horror stories about them to the bored soldiers at the camp.

Most undead were fearless, mindless drones that attacked without hesitation and with ferocity no mortal could match. They were tireless and possessed strength beyond even the greatest warrior. They were dangerous beyond belief.

But he had heard of the liches and other sentient undead. Only a few grizzled veterans had fought them, and those that had were terrified of the battle even years after it had occurred.

Liches – which he assumed was what this being was – were powerful mages that had sacrificed their humanity in exchange for even more power. Although such abominations knew fear and other human emotions, their increased intelligence and brutal cunning made that slight advantage meaningless. Their familiarity with men and mer made them some of the most dangerous foes one could face.

He wouldn't give the lich time to become that dangerous. Staid knew that he was at a disadvantage. His body was tired from the journey to the Barrow and the constant fights he had been in. His weapon was powerful, but the frost enchantment was largely ineffective against the undead monstrosity that he faced. His magicka was drained and his will was sapped.

But he saw an opportunity. The lich was recovering and trying to reach for its staff. Staid might not have any weapons that would be effective against the skeleton, but the lich did.

Staid went as fast as his body would allow. He raced towards the staff that had been previously cast aside, his body utilizing some well of strength that had laid hidden until this point. The lich seemed to realize what he was doing and abandoned its attempt to get to the staff.

The teenager grunted as the skeleton shot an arc of lightning at him. It connected and forced Staid to the ground as his muscles twitched and failed from the immense power of the electricity. Breathing had suddenly become very hard and pain engulfed every part of his body.

For a moment he thought about giving up. It was a new sentiment to him. He had never given up. Not when his parents had been killed and his home had been ransacked, not when he been beaten and left to die in the streets on many occasions, not when he had been faced with the colony of Frostbites.

Even as he felt the desire to simply give up and accept his death, an inner fire that had always been present but never powerful blazed up in indignation.

Staid couldn't believe that he had been weak enough to give up. He had struggled for life and torn himself from Arkay's hands far too many times to die now.

And if he had to die, it would not be a rotting corpse that finally did it. Staid ignored the pain and pushed himself closer to the staff. Even as the skeleton approached, confident in its victory, he grasped the cold black stone and turned himself over. The pain was fading, although his muscles still twitched from the aftereffects of the lightning.

Staid gritted his teeth against the pain and aimed the staff as best as he could. The lich was finally aware of the danger it was in and raised its green ward yet again while preparing another blast of lightning with its offhand.

The ward did little good. Perhaps the lich had overestimated its strength, or perhaps its magical power had simply waned over the past millennia. It might have even been the lightning that sabotaged its defenses.

Staid's new weapon released a surge of lightning even as the ward began to disappear. Its lightning crackled through the air and impacted the remnants of the swirling ward, destroying the weakened defense and impacting the lich's chest.

He watched in wonderment as the lich levitated even higher into the air before exploding into bright dust as the magic keeping it alive failed. Staid couldn't believe that he had actually won. The Divines must have been watching him.

The teenager couldn't identify what he was feeling. He knew he had just done an impressive deed, one that few men could hope to match. But it wasn't due to his skill in arms or magic. It was only through sheer luck that he managed to survive, let alone actually kill the skeleton.

Perhaps it was best to simply move on. He could ponder his thoughts later.

Staid leaned on the stone staff as he pushed himself up. He wasn't feeling too much pain and any minor injuries he had could be easily healed by a potion. Although he wanted to walk over to the remains of the lich, he realized that it was much more important to find the Dragonstone.

It hadn't been in the chest, so it had probably been buried with the lich. He slowly walked over and gazed into the empty sarcophagus and was glad when he saw a stone tablet that seemed to be engraved with a map of Skyrim. Staid examined it for a moment before picking it up and gently placing it into a large leather pack he had brought specifically for it.

The heavy stone was awkward to walk with at first, but he soon grew used to it. Staid walked over to the remnants of the lich and searched through the tattered cloak. Although it was interesting and Farengar would probably pay a bit of gold for it the robes were far too large and heavy for him to carry along with his new staff and the Dragonstone.

But he found what he was looking for. Staid gingerly pushed the scaled robes out of the way as he spied the mask. Even when its bearer was nothing but smoking ashes the mask was imposing, its blank face causing mild discomfort.

Staid picked it up with both hands and blew any of the remaining ashes out of it. The metal was cold in his hands and he grinned as he searched around for his dagger. If the mask passed the test than he would definitely be taking it with him.

When he found his dagger he raised it high above his head before bringing it down upon the mask. He smiled when he examined the mask and found that there wasn't a hint of damage, not even a small dent or scratch. There wasn't even any frost left over from the enchantment.

The teenager reverently put the mask on. It was icy cold, but it didn't cause him much discomfort. Something about the mask just made him feel powerful, indestructible even. He smiled as his wounds seemed to slowly vanish.

He needed to hide his face. Why shouldn't he be nearly invincible while doing it?

X

"Damn it!" Irileth called out as the dragon glided over her and her squad, incinerating two of the Whiterun guards with a stream of flame. Staid gasped as he hid behind a pile of rubble that had been knocked off of the tower and hurriedly pulled off his restricting armor, leaving him in nothing but his mask and leather garments. That bulky armor wouldn't be doing him any favors in this fight.

He had rested for nearly two days before finally making the trek back to Whiterun and giving Farengar the Dragonstone. After that he had removed all of his armor and rented a room in the Bannered Mare once he had received information on the enchanted items he had procured.

Farengar had revealed things about each of the items that Staid could only have guessed at. The mask was apparently forged before the First Era and had enchantments that made it practically indestructible and slightly increased his own strength and endurance, although he was still much weaker than a full grown man.

His staff was of similar age and apparently powerful enough for Farengar to offer him more than a thousand septims for it. Staid had decided to keep it, however. He hadn't known what threats he would be facing in the future, although he certainly hadn't anticipated it to be dragons.

The dagger was the least interesting of his new equipment. Although it had a powerful enchantment on it and would be quite effective against most creatures that weren't undead it lacked the exotic appeal of his other acquired items.

It had been quite a surprise when he had gotten back into his armor and gone up to Dragonsreach only to have Irileth and the Jarl practically order him to assist them. He had only been up at the palace to learn a few tricks from Farengar, but one didn't disobey the Jarl.

Now he wished that he had told them to sod off. He had thought the dragon would have simply flown off by now, but it seemed to enjoy hunting them like cows. The only good thing about this was that this dragon was much smaller than the one that obliterated Helgen and didn't seem to have the sheer power the black one had possessed.

Staid had been surprised when he heard the dragon talk. Its words were like those of the dragon that attacked Helgen, but it intermixed guttural Cyrodiilic in with cries.

He was yanked out of his thoughts when the dragon flew overhead, its powerful wings propelling it through the air above the guards. Staid winced as it swooped down – ignoring the arrows being shot at it as well as the waiting swords and spears – and picked one of the screaming guards up in its claws. The teenager pitied the helpless guard as the dragon threw him up in the air before catching him in his mouth.

The dragon tore the man to bits as the men and mer below watched on in horror. In the sudden silence they could hear every agonized scream as well as the crunching as the dragon's hard teeth tore through the metal armor.

Staid, despite being slightly desensitized to death, couldn't help but wretch at the sight. At least he didn't vomit, but his throat was still sore. The only comfort was that he wasn't alone in his actions. Several of the guards had emptied their stomachs onto the ground next to them as small chunks of bloodied flesh fell to the ground.

He felt righteous indignation flair up within him as the dragon idly dropped the rest of the mutilated corpse onto the ground. It practically exploded from the force as it landed, washing the grass and dirt in blood.

The staff was hot in his hand as he raised it at the lazily gliding dragon, who seemed to be searching for its next victim. Even as the dragon began to swoop down at one of the guards with a bow Staid activated the staff.

Every guard shouted in triumph as the powerful bolt of lightning struck the dragon. Staid grinned as the surprised creature seemed to flounder in the air for a second before turning towards the source of the lightning.

Staid didn't bother hiding behind the rubble. The sheer heat of the dragon's flames would probably kill him even if he did take cover. So, despite his terror and against every self-preservation instinct he possessed, he stood up straight and leveled the staff at the rapidly approaching dragon.

Even as the beast swooped down at him and opened its jaws in preparation to breath flames, Staid struck. Another lightning bolt struck the dragon, although this one didn't seem to faze it nearly as badly. He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach as the dragon swooped down at him.

He would have died then and there had the dragon simply blasted him with its fire. Instead, the dragon simply landed ten feet in front of him. Staid nearly pissed his very restricting iron armor as the dragon casually turned its head and blasted the guards that had begun to charge its flank with a stream of fire.

The guards were instantly killed and their burned bodies collapsed to the ground. Only a few had been foolhardy enough to attempt the charge, so at least there were still more than twenty guards to assist him. Most seemed to be getting into position to attack the dragon at a moment's notice, although Staid doubted their arrows would be very useful. The dragon had simply burned most of them away with a spurt of flame, and those that had hit it before seemed to be more of an annoyance than an actual danger.

"Brit grah." The dragon suddenly said in its deep voice. Staid thought it sounded…content? It peered down at Staid in interest as it spoke. "I had forgotten what fine sport you mortals could provide! You are brave, jul. Your defeat will bring me honor."

"Not as much as yours will bring to me!" Staid said resolutely. He nearly smacked himself in the face for the foolish comment. Now the dragon would probably just kill him, and this little attempt to buy time for the guards would be cut short.

Instead of insulted, the dragon seemed to be amused. "Balaan hokoron. Pruzah. You are brave, jul, but I cannot be bested by a mortal. And you are a mere child."

His blood ran cold. The damn dragon just ruined his little disguise. Staid grimaced beneath the mask and leveled his staff at the dragon. He willed a bolt of lightning to emerge from the black length of stone, but a dawning sense of horror washed over him when nothing was released save a few sparks.

The staff was out of power. Staid snarled in frustration and cast the staff down onto the bloodied grass and withdrew his dagger. As he pulled out the dagger, a swirling sphere of icy air emerged in his hand. Perhaps his spells would do some damage.

"This will be good sport." The dragon roared as it allowed Staid to prepare himself. Staid snarled and shot an ice storm towards the dragon.

Even as the spell swirled towards the dragon, the guards moved into action. The archers began to pepper the dragon with arrows, although it simply turned its head and bathed the area they stood at in flames. Staid doubted any survived.

Fortunately, they were enough of a distraction to allow the spell to hit. The dragon roared in annoyance and turned to Staid, who had begun to charge at the beast. For some reason it didn't simply incinerate him, instead opting to bare its fangs and snap at him when he got close enough.

Staid barely dodged the gaping maw and tumbled to the ground. The dragon walked slightly closer to him and began to raise its head in preparation for a strike. He would have died right there had the guards not attacked at that moment.

Irileth lead the courageous group. She struck at the dragon's rear leg as the others moved to assist her. Unfortunately, her attacks didn't seem to do much to the beast's thick hide. The dragon turned its head and attempted to blast the guards with flame, although they had avoided that danger by staying directly behind it.

"Cowards!" The dragon roared before brutally kicking backwards. Staid watched in horror as its clawed foot simply punched a massive hole through one of the guards' chest, instantly killing the man. It began to unfurl its wings and beat them, producing winds powerful enough to knock the guards to the ground.

Most did fall. Only Irileth and two others remained standing, although the dragon began to turn around. Staid wondered why it simply didn't fly away, but supposed that the dragon wanted there to be some risk involved.

Staid grimaced and began to push himself up off of the ground as the dragon baked the fallen guards with a quick blast of flame. The smell of burning flesh wafted through the air until it reached his nose. If he wasn't in a life threatening situation he might have gagged.

The teenager snarled as he stood up, his only focus being the only sensitive parts of the dragon he could see – the wings. Unlike the rest of the powerful body that was covered in thick scales that made the thickest of armor look thin and hide tough enough to deflect a blade, the wings were of a thin, membranous structure. Aside from the eyes they were the only weakness he could find.

He was silent in the great din of the battle. The guards were being massacred by the annoyed dragon, their armor no match for the terrifyingly sharp claws and teeth. Staid knew that this might be the only chance for victory and prepared a fireball in his offhand. Even if the wings were more fragile than the rest of the body he doubted that his dagger would do enough damage to force the dragon away.

Time seemed to slow down as he jumped up at the raised wing. He thrust his offhand at the wing, forcing the fireball outwards. It impacted just a second or two before he reached his target, searing parts of his body painfully. Fortunately, however, it didn't do much damage thanks to his mask.

His dagger landed precisely where he wanted it. Staid had to wince at the tearing sound as his dagger sliced through the burnt wing, freezing the flesh as it carved its way through the thin material. By the time he had landed and rolled away to avoid a painful impact the dragon was roaring in pain.

It glared at him as he stood back up and began to open its jaws. Apparently its patience with the game had been tested. Just as it began to speak the words that would bathe him in an inferno several arrows struck it in the head. The dragon's massive head snapped to the source – apparently the archers had retreated into the tower to avoid being such easy targets – and opened its jaws again.

Staid took advantage of the opportunity to run under the distracted dragon while the guards began to flank it. The dragon kicked at them and menacingly thrashed its tail to keep them at bay, but it was too distracted to do much to the survivors.

Suddenly, the air seemed to be tinted a light blue and thunder surged from the dragon's throat. Staid turned to the dragon's neck and head even as the beast said more of the strange words.

"Fus Ro Dah!" The dragon shouted. Staid hissed in agony as the powerful sound tore through his ears and clutched his hands to the side of his head. Unfortunately, he was still able to see the effects of the spell.

A massive, silvery blue wave of magic was streaking towards the watchtower and seemed to grow larger every second. Staid watched in horrified fascination as the magic impacted the stone tower. The moment it hit the tower _exploded_ the opposite way of the wave and sent massive, charred chunks of stone hurtling across the tundra. He even caught a glimpse of a body caught in the blast.

Staid choked out a cry and leapt at the dragon's temporarily exposed neck. He was too caught up in his emotions to think of using a spell and blindly struck at the thin scales protecting it.

Something was favoring his strike. Instead of simply being deflected by the nigh invulnerable scales his dagger stabbed into a vulnerable chink between them. Staid grimaced as burning hot blood poured out onto his gloved hand before he simply let go of his dagger and ran out from under the dragon. It could easily just crush him as long as he was right under it.

The teenager gasped for breath and searched for another weapon in the dusty, bloody tundra. He would have thought that they would be plentiful thanks to the vast number of guards that had been killed, but the dragon's fire had twisted all of their armor and weaponry into useless, twisted hunks of metal.

He frantically looked around – he had to find some way to defend himself before the dragon could attack again – and finally found his salvation. It came in the form of a shoddy piece of iron that resembled a club more than an actual sword, but it would work.

Staid sprinted over to it and picked it up. It was unfamiliar in his hand and horrifically heavy and unbalanced, but he didn't have to use it for long. He glanced back at the dragon and saw that it had begun to recover from its injury and was tearing into the remaining guards – Irileth and three others were all that remained, the others having been killed by its powerful limbs – with its tail and legs.

It was distracted. The teenager grimaced as he hefted the heavy sword in both hands and ran at the dragon, his only focus in slaying the beast. Staid could feel the fatigue in his limbs as he neared the dragon that was fortunately glancing over its shoulder in the hopes of blasting the guards with flame and suddenly slipped on some of the bloody grass.

He cursed, but managed to recover enough to raise the blade as he slid towards the dragon. It returned its focus to him and opened its jaws, but was too slow. Staid winced as the blade cut deep into the dragon's neck and allowed copious amounts of blood to pour out.

Although it was a brutal blow to the dragon, it wasn't a lethal one. Staid took advantage of the dragon's pained roars to tear his dagger – still embedded in the monster's long neck – out before spinning away and getting into a combat position.

Staid never stopped moving, even as he glanced to see the dragon's condition. He had a feral snarl on his face when he saw that the dragon was hunched over as it tried to protect its most vulnerable spots. The guards were trying to circle around so that they could get a lethal strike in, but the dragon was still conscious enough to thrash and blast small streams of flame at them if they drew near.

Something seemed to be guiding him as he charged at the dragon, his legs and arms forcing through the fatigue with his last remnants of strength. He panted as he neared the dragon and jumped at its slowly rising head. The dragon hadn't given up and opened its jaws as widely as possible.

The teenager didn't give it time to incinerate him. He raised his offhand and blasted weak arcs of electricity into the gaping maw, causing the dragon to snap them shut as the painful lightning coursed through its veins. While the dragon twitched in agony Staid leapt at the dragon's head with his dagger and stabbed into its skull.

Although the bone seemed to be too hard for the dagger to penetrate, the frost enchantment seemed to cause the dragon horrific pain. Staid gasped in shock as the dragon began flailing, throwing him up in the air. As he fell back down the dragon opened up its jaws, giving Staid a great view of the massive fangs it sported.

Staid knew he wouldn't be able to escape. The dragon's noxious breath – it smelled like badly burned meat and smoke – was surrounding him and the horrifically massive teeth were getting closer. So he took one last chance and fired an ice spike down its throat mere seconds before he landed.

The dragon seemed to be giving up. His spell seemed to have stabbed into the sensitive flesh in its neck and was forcing it to cough up blood. Staid finally landed, his dagger landing a lucky stab straight into the beast's right eye. It was torn from his grasp as he fell past the dragon's head.

He gasped as he landed heavily upon the ground and heard a few small snaps. Blinding pain erupted in his ribs, so he assumed that they had been broken. Nevertheless he gingerly pushed himself up and looked over at the dragon.

It seemed to be dying. The gigantic body was still and unmoving as he hobbled over, save for the lone eye that balefully glared at him as he neared. Staid drew upon his last reserves of magicka and partially healed his body, causing the sharp pains emanating from his side to nearly vanish. There would still be a nasty bruise covering his entire side soon.

Staid felt as though he were merely watching his own body as he walked over and tore his bloodied dagger from the dragon's ruined eye. He held no fear as he slowly climbed on top of the monster's head and leveled the point of the dagger just a few centimeters above the small area on the dragon's skull where the bone seemed to form a small bowl.

A moment later he pulled the dagger up and slammed it down. His weapon stabbed through the thick bone and into the brain below, although it barely managed to penetrate.

Even as his dagger landed on its mark, the dragon seemed to realize that its death was eminent. Some strange fear seemed to dawn in it as he yanked his blade up, some realization as it began to die.

"Dovahkiin! No!" It roared. Staid widened his eyes at the familiar name – everyone that had spent much time in Skyrim had heard the tales of the various Dragonborn and their exploits – and shakily stood up. Did the dragon actually mean what it had just said?

Staid couldn't find the strength to step off of the dragon's massive head and simply stood as straight as he could manage, his feet located in between the long horns of the dragon. He became aware of the guards looking at him in awe, each of the burned and bloodstained warriors simply staring at the victorious Imperial.

And then something even stranger happened. Some sort of golden energy began to emanate from the dragon's corpse, settling around the monster's gigantic body before suddenly streaming around him. He had just a moment to tense up in preparation for the dragon's last retribution before it began to flow into his battered body.

For just a moment he felt nothing but a slightly warm sensation crawling across his skin. Suddenly, however, his mind felt as though something were splitting it in half. He had just a moment to scream before he was pulled into the awaiting darkness.

_Images rapidly flashed past his eyes. He saw other massive dragons, most much larger than this one and with power that mortals could only wonder at. He saw the experiences of the dragon – Mirmulnir, he realized as the dragon's knowledge burned into his mind – and felt every sensation it had felt. He experienced every battle so fast that he couldn't remember them and saw untold centuries of hiding in the mountains of Skyrim in the blink of an eye._

_But what he felt the most was the strength of Mirmulnir pulsing deep inside of him, pouring its power into his mind. He thought of the strange word that had been burned into his mind by the strange wall at the Barrow, "Fus" and suddenly the power seemed to flow into the word, unlocking all of its secrets and gifting him with the power to use the word, the "Thu'um" as the flashes of knowledge told him, as he saw fit._

Staid felt invigorated as his eyes opened. All of the exhaustion he had been feeling just a few moments before had vanished. In fact, he felt better than ever.

He became aware that he wasn't standing on Mirmulnir anymore. At least not the full, true dragon. The flesh seemed to have vanished while he absorbed the dragon's…mind? Soul? Staid wasn't educated enough to know. Nevertheless, the fact remained that he was standing on a skull that was almost as large as he was.

The teenager casually jumped down onto the ashes where sparse clumps of vegetation had been mere minutes before. It was only after he had recovered from the impact that he realized that the guards – even Irileth – were staring at him in awe.

Staid blanched as he realized that they had been witness to whatever had just happened. Now he would have even more attention drawn to him. Nevertheless, he didn't say anything when one of the awed guards walked up to him.

"I can't believe it. You're…Dragonborn." She muttered reverently, her voice slightly muffled thanks to her helmet.

"I figured." Staid muttered. "Absorbing the dragon's power tipped me off as well."

"There's only one way to see if you really are the Dragonborn." She said loudly, ignoring his last quip. "Try to Shout, that would prove it. According to the old legends, only the Dragonborn can Shout without any training, the way the dragons do."

Staid gave in and looked upwards before focusing on that word, "Fus". Even as his mouth opened and power gathered within him, he heard one of the guards scoffing at the woman's claim.

"Dragonborn?" He began. "What a load of rub—"

His remarks were cut off as Staid released the power in the form of Fus. The air around the teenager was tinted a light blue as the wave of force erupted from his mouth and blasted through the atmosphere, and a crack like thunder accompanied his shout of "Fus!"

Staid recognized it as the same Shout that Mirmulnir had used to destroy the watchtower, although this seemed much weaker than it. Still, he expected that it would be more than powerful enough to throw a man back at least ten or twenty feet. It could probably even kill if the circumstances were right.

Silence accompanied the Shout as everyone took in what he had just done. Irileth finally snapped into action and began commanding her soldiers.

"Search for anyone who survived the attack." She barked to two of the remaining soldiers. They hurriedly nodded and scurried off to poke through the wreckage. Next she turned to Staid and the guard who had pronounced him Dragonborn. "Skolgi," she paused, seemingly unsure as of how to address Staid, "you, come with me. The Jarl must know of this."

Staid sighed and obediently followed after her. It was best to not antagonize a Jarl and his Housecarl.

X

As they crossed the vast plain back to Whiterun, something rather unexpected happened.

Even as he began to say some cutting rebuke that would cause the lone guard to stop staring – Irileth wasn't nearly interested enough in him to do that - the earth began to shake beneath their feet. Staid hoped that it wasn't another dragon or some other beast of myth that had decided to come and play. A moment later his fears were alleviated when what seemed like a chorus of impossibly powerful voices shouted,

"DOVAHKIIN!"

Staid sighed. It looked like this wasn't a fluke after all. And now he wouldn't be able to escape from this attention ever again. In fact, the lone guard – Skolgi, Irileth had called her – was already staring at him with renewed fascination.

"Could we just hurry up and get back to the city?" He mumbled to Irileth. The guard's reverent gaze was making him uncomfortable.

X

He was in a daze. When he had gotten back to Whiterun the entire town had been in an uproar over the Greybeards' summon. Fortunately, however, the guard hadn't announced that he was the one. They would have been mobbed if that had happened.

Dragonsreach was just as bad. Jarl Balgruuf was pacing around irritably, ignoring the requests of his steward to calm down and had immediately rounded upon the small group of survivors.

"What happened?" He asked in a deathly calm voice. Staid felt himself sweating underneath his mask as he realized that he didn't have any armor on. That would ignite quite a few questions that he didn't want to answer. "Why are there only the three of you?"

"My lord." Irileth said as she dropped to her knee. "The dragon killed all but five of us. The other two are searching for survivors."

"Proventus." Balgruuf barked, startling the pale Imperial. "Tell the captain to gather twenty men to go to the watchtower. Bring food and water. Make sure to have healing potions as well."

The steward bowed and set off to do the Jarl's bidding.

"Continue your report, Irileth." He said as he walked over to his throne and tiredly sat down.

"Twenty three of our soldiers were killed in the attack." Irileth continued in a stony voice. "I do not believe we will find survivors. The Western Watchtower was destroyed in the –"

"Destroyed!" The Jarl exclaimed. "How?"

"The dragon used some sort of magic that destroyed it." The dunmer replied before continuing. "It was destroyed in the attack, but the dragon was killed before it could do anymore damage."

"Twenty three men to kill one dragon." The Jarl murmured. "How did you kill it, Irileth?"

"It was not I that slew the beast." Irileth admitted. "Although we did provide a distraction for him to do the most damage and eventually kill it." She glanced at Staid as she answered, giving the Jarl all the information he needed.

"It was you who slew the dragon?" Balgruuf asked softly as he rose from his throne. Staid nervously nodded. "I thank you for your deed. Now tell me, how did this dragon compare to the one that attacked Helgen? Were they the same creature?"

"No, my Jarl." Staid replied, kneeling in front of Whiterun's lord. It was best to be submissive when someone could have you killed at a moment's notice. "This one was far smaller and weaker. I doubt an army could have killed the dragon that destroyed Helgen."

Gasps erupted from the members of Balgruuf's court. The Jarl himself simply sighed.

"You bring me grave tidings, but your bravery and skill is unmatched. But I have one last question before I bequeath upon you your reward for avenging my people. Are you the Dragonborn?"

There was only silence as the entire court awaited the question. Staid sighed as he realized he wouldn't be able to escape that damned summons.

"I am the Dragonborn." He said, raising his head to look the Jarl in the eye. Balgruuf seemed pleased and motioned for him to stand.

"Then there is hope. Take off your mask." The Jarl commanded. Staid's breath caught in his throat as he was torn between two very important choices: take off his mask and reveal himself to be little more than a child in the eyes of the Nords or make a run for it. Neither would turn out favorably for him, although he supposed that if he revealed his face he wouldn't get a sword in the back.

With trembling hands and closed eyes he gently wrenched the powerful mask off his face. He instantly felt his age again. Fatigue hit him and the strength that had infused him thanks to the mask's enchantment vanished. Staid visibly sagged as the mask was fully taken off.

Those that could see his face were silent in amazement. Apparently they had expected their savior to be older. Jarl Balgruuf didn't seem to mind, however. Perhaps he believed that Staid had proven himself.

"Dragonborn, you have performed a great deed for Whiterun in slaying this dragon. You have avenged the fallen warriors that are even now walking the halls of Sovngarde and protected Whiterun from the greatest threat it has faced in many years. In honor of your heroic deed, I offer you the title of a Thane of Whiterun."

"You can't give such a position to a child!" A brutish looking man with a tattooed face and a sword larger than Staid on his back shouted. "No matter if he's the Dragonborn!"

"Calm yourself, Hrongar." Balgruuf commanded in a stern voice. "I am Jarl, and the Dragonborn has proven himself. Now, Dragonborn, will you accept my offer?"

Staid gulped, but the decision was an easy one. If he hadn't been revealed as the Dragonborn in front of so many people, he would never have taken the offer and instead escaped Whiterun hold to travel by his lonesome. But he had been revealed, and now he expected that word would spread throughout all of Skyrim about the child Dragonborn. Besides, if he was the Dragonborn shouldn't he have a little real power as well?

"I accept."

Staid just hoped that he had made the right decision.


	3. Chapter 3: Chains

A/N: Sorry for the wait, but I got distracted by all of my other projects. Anyways, I hope you like this chapter. It's not quite what I had planned – probably because it doesn't have a six page battle in it – but I think its decent.

Riverwood was surprisingly quiet as he entered the small town. It was never as raucous as Whiterun, but normally the sounds of the surrounding wilderness were drowned out by the villagers as they went about their day. All he could hear were muted whispers from staring villagers as he walked through the town.

Staid shrugged. He had received similar reactions from other villages he had visited throughout Whiterun Hold, but it was uncomfortable for him to realize that the people of Riverwood – many of whom he'd befriended or at least become familiar with during his recovery – were now in awe of his status as the Dragonborn.

He wished that the guards were less prone to gossip. After his appointment as a Thane of Whiterun - drawing quite a bit of controversy from several of the other Thanes, whom did not believe he was skilled enough to perform the duties the position entailed – and the revelation that he was the Dragonborn, news of his position spread throughout Whiterun Hold like a wild fire.

It wouldn't have been a problem if he didn't take Lydia everywhere with him. If it weren't for her, he could have remained an anonymous drifter, notable only for being so much younger and smaller than the other wanderers.

Lydia seemed as though she wanted to attract attention. She wore the sigil of a Whiterun Housecarl emblazoned across her shield and armor, almost instantly revealing who he was to those that had been informed of the Dragonborn being a teenager with a Housecarl. Her stern expression and obvious pride in her charge was only noticeable to observant individuals, but it revealed just as much as the sigil did.

He had thought about leaving her to attend to his home in Whiterun, but had thought better of it. Although he had a powerful new weapon at his disposal – the single Word he knew allowed him to easily defeat most of the common foes he faced such as bandits or could buy him time to escape with creatures like mammoths or giants – he was still far too weak physically to hold his own in a straight fight.

Lydia, however, was more than sufficient in fighting on even terms with their opponents. She was much stronger than him, loath as he was to admit it, and possessed talent with a blade that he could never hope to match. Her skill had been honed in bloody battle against those that had disturbed Whiterun's peace that had left her with experience that matched those of the senior guardsman.

And since she was only now reaching her prime as a warrior – she was only a decade older than Staid – the Jarl had judged her to be the best candidate to be his Housecarl. After seeing the woman's skill, Staid was more than inclined to agree.

"Could you be any more conspicuous?" Staid asked her as they walked through the town. Lydia glanced at him, still as tense and ready for battle as ever. He suspected that she did it on purpose, just to annoy him.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." She replied, sending a glare at a man that was about to approach. Staid rolled his eyes as the man scurried away from the stern woman.

"Please." He scoffed. "You practically scream that you're a Housecarl, what with the shield and how tense you are."

He was sure that Lydia was smiling, although he couldn't see her face thanks to her being a few steps behind him.

"I am a Housecarl." She said. "So I don't see what the problem is."

Staid sighed. "You're drawing attention to us. I don't like everyone staring at me. It makes me feel like I need to run."

"You're going to be stared at." His Housecarl said in amusement. "You are the Dragonborn, after all. The first since the extinction of the Septim line and the first born amongst the common folk since Talos himself."

"That doesn't mean I want people staring at me." He hissed, lowering his voice when he realized that curious villagers were trying to eavesdrop. "I'm not used to it."

Lydia shrugged. "I don't think you have a choice. Your status will eventually be revealed wherever you go. But," she continued over his objections, "I will attempt to be less noticeable if it makes you feel better. The sigils can easily be hidden."

"Thank you." Staid said. Silence ensued between the two. In an attempt to rid the uncomfortable atmosphere, he started to speak again only to be interrupted by a small blur running into him from the back, nearly knocking him over with the surprising force.

Staid's hand reflexively went for his dagger as he identified the threat. Lydia's gigantic steel broadsword was already coming out of its sheath and she had her shield up to protect her Thane from any other danger.

Instead of some sort of bloodthirsty warrior wanting to challenge the Dragonborn or a beast, the smiling face of a young girl stared up at him with wide eyes. Staid quickly put his dagger back into its hidden position and glanced at Lydia, silently ordering her to do the same.

"Hi, Staid!" Dorthe said excitedly as she hugged him, although it shifted to what passed as stern for her when she released him. "Where have you been? You said you would come back as soon as you were done in Whiterun."

Staid smiled down at the younger girl. "Sorry. I really meant to come back to Riverwood a lot faster, but things got a little more exciting than I had planned."

Dorthe's eyes widened. "Then is it true?" She whispered. "You're really the Dragonborn?"

He shifted, a little uneasy with the reverence she was showing him. Staid didn't want people to treat him differently than before. It made him feel like all eyes were upon him – an uncomfortable sensation for a wanderer and thief such as himself.

"It's true." He muttered, looking away.

"That's awesome!" Dorothy squealed. Staid winced and moved to cover his ears from the high pitched sound. Lydia jumped a bit in shock before calming down. "I told Frodnar that those soldiers were right. Now he has to believe me!"

Staid blinked, not sure what to say. Lydia walked up beside him and smirked beneath her helmet. At least that's what he assumed from the amused undertones in her voice.

"So you know this girl, my Thane?"

The Dragonborn nodded, ignoring Dorthe's gasp at his title. "The brat," he said affectionately, ruffling Dorthe's hair with his leather clad hand, "kept me company while I was recovering from an injury. She's related to a legionnaire that saved my life."

"And we played tag and hide and seek –" Dorthe began before being interrupted by a small boy. Staid raised an eyebrow as the familiar, brash voice of Frodnar cut in.

"You aren't really the Dragonborn." Frodnar said confidently.

Staid sighed as the boy continued. The nine year old really needed to learn some respect. He wasn't the most respectful person – particularly not to someone that didn't have more power than him or something that he needed – but at least he reserved his judgment until he had a first impression of the person. Besides, one day Frodnar would insult someone that didn't have patience with him as Staid did.

"And how do you figure that?" Lydia said tersely. Staid knew she wouldn't hurt Frodnar, but he could tell that she was more than willing to give him a verbal beating.

"Because," the boy began proudly, "my pa told me the stories about the Dragonborn. He said that the Dragonborn would be a great Nord warrior that could kill a hundred Imperials at once. The Dragonborn is supposed to be ten feet tall and use the Voice to shout lightning and fire! Staid isn't much older than me and isn't big enough to be the Dragonborn."

The boy said the words confidently and quickly, as though he had heard them many times before. He stared at Staid, meeting the Imperial's eyes challengingly. Staid had to admire the boy's nerve, even if he was a little annoying.

Just before he responded, Dorthe jumped to his defense.

"You're lying!" She insisted. "Staid is the Dragonborn. He said so, and those soldiers did too!"

Staid smiled at Dorthe. At least she wasn't acting any differently. Although it would be nice if she were a bit less loud. His ears could only take so much damage.

Unfortunately, he noticed that Dorthe's exclamations had attracted the attention of the passing villagers. The villagers had circled around them and were staring at him, clearly awaiting his response. It looked like it was time for him to prove his identity as the Dragonborn, even if he was loath to do so.

"I think you're lying." Frodnar said boldly. "You don't look like my pa said the Dragonborn would. If you are the Dragonborn, prove it!"

He glanced at Lydia, wondering if she had an opinion on this. She had greater experience in life than he did. His Housecarl would know if this was a good idea or not. Staid was willing to put what little pride he had on the line if she said that this was a bad idea.

Lydia nodded at him, her face obscured by her steel helmet. He could barely make out her eyes – they were hidden in the shadows of her helmet, visible only due to the slight glint the light made as it reflected off of them – but could see that they were slightly reverent at what he was about to do.

Staid sighed. "Stand back."

The villagers rushed to follow his command. Most quickly scooted back. Lydia moved a few feet away, but was still close enough to defend him if necessary. Frodnar refused to budge, still believing that Staid was lying.

He sent a stern glance at Dorthe. If Frodnar got hurt, it would be a tragedy, but one that the boy had brought upon himself by refusing to budge. But if Dorthe got hurt by the Shout he would be very, very angry. The girl had helped him through a hard time, and he liked her much more than most people.

Dorthe sighed and moved away to stand by Lydia. Staid glanced throughout the crowd and saw many familiar faces. Alvor and Sigrid were watching him carefully, as were the other inhabitants of Riverwood he had become familiar with during the days he spent recovering.

Staid took a deep breath and looked up to the sky. It was cloudy and grey, although he could see beams of bright sunlight breaching the thick clouds periodically.

The Dragonborn called upon the strange power that hid within him, the lone Word that possessed enough strength to hurl several men dozens of feet.

"Fus." He said in a voice that sounded nothing like his own. It sounded raspier and ancient, unfit to belong to a boy that had only just become a teenager. Power flowed through the Word as it exited his body, sounding a loud boom as the force tore through the air.

His Word travelled through the air in a pale blue wave before it lost its power and winked out of existence. Staid ignored his burning throat and turned back to Frodnar. The boy was staring at him with a pale face.

"Are you still unsure?" Staid asked. His words seemed to break the tension and reverence that had held the crowd. They mumbled and began to dissipate, apparently unwilling to remain close to the Dragonborn.

"You're really the Dragonborn?" Frodnar asked. Staid nodded. The boy's face was split by a wide smile. "That's awesome!"

Dorthe pranced back over, followed by a silent Lydia. Staid groaned at the thought of being mobbed by two of the excited children.

XX

"So, Staid," Alvor began uncomfortably, "you are the Dragonborn the soldiers spoke of? I had pictured someone…different."

Staid and Lydia had decided to stay in Riverwood for a few days. He was in no hurry to leave – the Jarl hadn't given him an assignment and he was simply looking for opportunities to receive gold – and had plenty of time to burn. Lydia seemed happy with the peace as well.

Besides, he hoped that being amongst the villagers again would remind them that he hadn't changed. He didn't want Riverwood to become like Whiterun – full of muttered conversations and awed stares when he walked by. Staid wanted at least one sanctuary where he wouldn't be the Dragonborn.

He grinned at Alvor's remark.

"I've gotten that a lot. Most seem to have been expecting a gigantic Nord with a beard down to his knees and with a sword larger than he was. I suppose that I must be quite the disappointment."

Alvor chortled. "I'm sure that many of the Stormcloaks shall be disappointed. But I'm sure you'll prove to be much greater than their fantasy ever could be. Now, let us leave this talk. Dinner is not the place for such heavy talk."

Staid was rather glad that they'd gotten of the topic of him being the Dragonborn. Of course, Alvor's confident words that he would become greater than what the people of Skyrim envisioned the Dragonborn as made him think, although he doubted that it would ever come true.

He shook his head. Staid was tired of his life revolving around being the Dragonborn. At the very least he could ignore it today – or put it behind him for a while.

"So has anything happened around the village lately?" He asked in between bites of food. "I heard that the Stormcloaks have been testing the borders lately. Have any of the Stormcloaks from the Rift or Eastmarch come around?"

Alvor shook his head. "They've been raiding some of the smaller villages to the east, but we are still safe. Riverwood is too close to Whiterun itself for Jarl Balgruuf to be lax in defending us. We have a garrison stationed here that has kept Stormcloak sympathizers from getting too bold."

"Who's in command of it?" Lydia said. Alvor glanced at her confusedly.

"The Jarl's brother, Hrongar." Alvor said with a shrug. "He doesn't speak with the villagers, but he gave me a contract to forge armor for the soldiers. Not the most pleasant of men."

Lydia frowned. Staid sent a questioning glance at her. Although he didn't like Hrongar, he didn't see why Lydia seemed troubled by his appointment to Riverwood.

"Be wary of the Thane. Hrongar won't intentionally cause harm to you." She said carefully."But he is hotheaded and has a short temper. Should the village be attacked, he might cause collateral damage. It's happened before."

Sigrid frowned and put down her fork and knife. "Is he dangerous? I don't want him around the town if he might hurt one of us or the children."

Lydia's frown was replaced by an unknowable expression. "Of course he's dangerous. Hrongar is – or was –" she said, glancing at Staid, "the Jarl's most powerful instrument of war and the one he sends to do his dirty work. The Thane is a skilled warrior and has a thirst for blood."

Staid felt a sense of protectiveness for the village. Now that he had heard Lydia's opinion on him – and he fully trusted it, since she had likely fought under him before – he didn't want Hrongar presiding over the garrison here, even if the man would be effective in defending it.

But Lydia continued speaking.

"But, like I said, he won't intentionally hurt you. Hrongar is bloodthirsty, but he is too honorable to attack innocents or civilians unless they attack him. So long as you don't try to hurt him or his men he will leave the villagers alone."

That was a relief for all of them. Staid still felt some apprehension, but he trusted Lydia's judgment. If she said that Hrongar wouldn't hurt anyone, then Hrongar wouldn't hurt anyone.

"Good." Alvor stated. "None of us desire trouble. I was worried when I first heard of the Thane's appointment to Riverwood. Not many have heard the tales of his battles, but I have. At the very least he will keep the Stormcloaks away. They do not have the numbers to throw at a commander as ruthless as Hrongar."

Staid nodded again, although he clenched his knife slightly harder than before as he cut a slice of salted meat off of the main hunk. He didn't like thinking of any threats to Riverwood. It made him uncomfortable.

"I bet Staid would protect us from him." Dorthe exclaimed through the food in her mouth. "He would beat the Stormcloaks too!"

"Don't talk with your mouth full." Sigrid scolded. "It's not ladylike."

He had to hide a grin as Dorthe petulantly whined back to her mother, only for Sigrid to scold her some more. At least things were going back to normal around here.

XX

They stayed in Riverwood for two more days. Staid enjoyed the peace and managed to get most of the villagers to treat him like a human again, while Lydia spent the time inspecting the garrison and speaking with the soldiers so long as she was near Staid.

He never saw Hrongar – apparently the older Thane was staying in the inn, along with the other soldiers sent to Riverwood – but heard terrified whispers and rumors flying around town about the Jarl's right hand. Apparently tales of his battles had made their way into Riverwood.

Staid spent most of the time speaking with Alvor and Sigrid or playing with Dorthe and Frodnar. He liked the family, so none of it was a chore to him. They were probably the people he was closest to in Skyrim unless he found some of the legionnaires that had mentored and protected him when he was younger.

It had been nice to not have to worry about fighting for his life or having to travel just to survive, but he knew it was time to go. He had plenty of money and resources as a Thane, but that wouldn't save him if he had to fight another dragon again.

He needed experience and power – things that could only be attained through wandering and fighting. Crime was rampant throughout SKyrim and undead, monsters, and daedra wandered the wilderness. Staid figured that it would be best to gather experience against such supernatural threats before facing the ultimate challenge: dragons. In particular, he wanted to be as experienced as he could before facing the monstrosity that had destroyed Helgen.

So he couldn't remain happy and secure in Riverwood – no matter how much he wanted to. He had to venture out into the wilderness and face threats that would test him every time. If he was to protect Skyrim from dragons as so many had claimed, then he would have to sacrifice his own desire for a while.

But before he left he had to say goodbye to Alvor and the family. He wasn't sure how long it would be before he could return to Riverwood, so he couldn't just leave in the night as he usually did.

Lydia stood at his flank in full armor, ready for any threat that could conceivably appear. She was silent and dour, lacking her usual sarcastic comments. Staid was sure that she would open up more when they were out on the road, but for now she seemed to be the epitome of professionalism.

"Well, I suppose this is goodbye." Staid said stonily. He didn't let too much emotion into his voice and was aware that it sounded tight. "I'll see you all again sometime soon."

"Good luck, Staid." Alvor said just as stonily. He broke a bit at the end, though. "Listen, lad, you're going to have a hard time. I can't claim to understand what you'll be going through or what you'll face in your journeys, but know this: we'll be supporting you the entire way. There isn't anyone I know that's strong enough to face what you will."

Staid swallowed and nodded before shaking Alvor's callused, weathered hand. He looked over to Sigrid. She had been far quieter around him than she had last time and seemed more reserved. Still, she had gladly helped him prepare their packs for the next journey and had been friendly.

"Good luck." She said, repeating the words of her husband. "I'm sure you'll be great…just remember to come back to Riverwood every now and then. We'll miss you."

He nodded and turned to Dorhe. This was a bit harder than he'd thought it would be. Staid wasn't used to actually having someone to leave. The teenager wasn't sure if it was an improvement or not.

"You're going to beat all the bad guys." Dorthe said confidently. "But you'll come back soon, right?"

"Of course." Staid smiled. "And I'll be sure to bring you something next time."

Dorthe looked pleased. "I'll make sure to make you the best sword ever!"

Sigrid looked quite disapproving of that, but Staid and Alvor just kept on smiling.

"Thanks. Anyways, I'll see all of you as soon as I can." He said quickly before standing up. Staid picked up his pack and started walking away, leaving Riverwood behind before he could manipulate himself into staying.

Lydia followed silently behind, wary and prepared. The only sound she produced was the rattle of her thick steel armor.

Staid could feel the villagers' eyes upon him as he walked away, as well as the judging eyes of the soldiers. He glanced back one last time and saw that they were still looking at him. He put them out of mind as he walked ahead and left the village behind.

He would return soon. But for now he needed to train.


End file.
